The first week after the crash, Mom thought it wise to get me a therapist so I could “talk things out.” His name was Dr. Bradshaw, and he was a good doctor. I was not a good patient. I refused to cooperate with Dr. Bradshaw’s exercises—even physically charging him once (“I DON’T WANT TO THINK THROUGH MY EMOTIONS!). They say everyone grieves in their own way. Well, I grieved by walking around with bed hair 24/7 and spending mealtimes sitting in my room, curtains drawn, wondering what if, what if, what if? Where would the two of us be had the accident not happened? The only thing worse than the memories were the what ifs.
A year later, I’m much better, to say the least. Fresh haircut, graduation gown on, ready to move on with life. The funny is though, while time heals all wounds, it doesn’t remove the splinter. And I’m afraid mine is still wedged, deep inside.
We pull into the parking lot, which is already filling with cars and people. Set against a backdrop of evergreen trees, Cedar Wood High School is an extraordinarily peaceful and uneventful place. An American flag catches the sun’s light and flutters over rows of red-bricked buildings. I step out onto the pavement—the road marks fading, and take a good look at the place I call my high school.
I see Carson as we get out of the car and walk towards the auditorium. He’s standing in front of the main building with his parents, his girlfriend, Ashley, and her parents. Carson has short black hair while Ashley has long blond waves. Their graduation gowns flutter in the slight breeze.
Carson and Ashley wave when they see me.
“Bro, you looking fine,” Carson gives me a fist bump. I can damn near feel the excitement in his knuckles as they connect with mine. He’s been looking forward to this day for a long time.
“Hey Deron!” Ashley smiles and gives me a hug. “You look good!”
“As do you two,” I say. Our parents have congregated into their group, talking, allowing Carson, Ashley, and I to form our own semicircle.
“So last night, Carson and I went to the new Italian restaurant around the corner,” says Ashley. “And the food there was freaking amazing. I mean, you have to go there to believe it.”
“Their food was damn. Fine. Unbelievable,” Carson says. He holds his hand outwards and down like a rapper’s. He always does that for emphasis. “Dude…the risotto killed me.”
“Last date for you two as high school students.” I smile. I’m happy for the two of them. I really am. Paige would be happy, too.
“Yeah…” Carson says. “Big day for all of us.”
“Big day for me to trip on stage,” I deadpan.
Carson laughs a little. Places a hand on my shoulder.
“Buddy, that joke’s dragged on too long,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“When your name gets called, you know I’ll be the one cheering the loudest. And not for you to slip!”
“You’re going to stop teasing me now?” I say, surprised.
“Yup,” Carson says. “No more teasing my buddy, Deron!”
“Wow,” I say.
“What?”
“It’s just. That’s a change from you,” I say. “And not to offend you. It’s a pleasant change. A welcomed one.”
Carson shrugs. “I did it for you, man. And I’m not changing my whole personality or anything, but the little things, I guess, for those I care about.”
“I changed, too,” Ashley chimes in. “I became just a tad bit more adventurous and open-minded when I started going out with Carson,”
“Yeah!” Carson says. “And you too, Deron! You turned all philosophical after…after you met Paige.” He hesitates on the name. We discuss Paige more openly than my parents and I, but it’s still a touchy subject.
“You should have gone out with us last night,” Ashley says ruefully.
“I…I couldn’t,” I say. “I remember making that pact…with Paige. The day before graduation, we promised we would watch the sun rise. Together.”
Carson sighs. My friends have heard my rants a million trillion times before. “Bro, did you stay up all night?”
“Is that why you have bags under your eyes?” Ashley says.
I nod.
There’s a pause. The details are all so clear: the cool air on my face, the sea of blue graduation gowns surrounding us, the sounds of people engaged in all different kinds of conversation. Finally, Ashley says, “Deron, doing things like that, wishing she was still here with you. That won’t help you move on.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done,” I reply.
“I miss her, too,” Carson says. His voice rarely goes soft like this. “I know you love her, bro. It’s hard not to. But, like…you have us, too. We’re here for you.”
“Thanks.” I manage a smile.
“I thought Paige and I would be friends for life,” says Ashley. “But dreams don’t plan for change.”
“We would’ve attended Cornell together,” I say. “She was going to apply. I’m sure she would’ve got in.”
“I’m sorry,” says Ashley. “I’m so sorry.” And I feel she’s sorry for Paige too, that I have to put our relationship on a pedestal; that I can’t let go of my ideal future of us.
The wind…the wind is lonely again. It’s chanting a name. A name I long to hear again, to grasp at its life once more. But there is no life to her anymore.
It’s here that I realize I’m still lying on that road, bleeding out, because the blood never stopped flowing. I’ve never come to terms with that day.
And then I’m running. “I have to say goodbye to her,” is all I say before I’m off. The pavement, the people, the buildings all fly past me in slow motion. The wind bites through my graduation gown like its nothing. I keep running, running until the bodies become fewer and I can breathe more easily.
Deep breaths, Deron. In. Out. In. Out.
I don’t stop until I’m far away from the main buildings. I slow down my pace until I’m walking again.
In. Out. In. Out.
Breathe, Deron. Breathe.
I open my eyes.
I’m standing in the school garden. The pavement separates several rows of soil where bushes of blackberries grow. Around me are evergreen trees, sunbeams peeking through spaces between the branches. I imagine I’m in a verdant forest far away, perched on the treetops, looking over a sea of green. I can’t hear the voices anymore. I’m safe here—safe from harm, safe from any foul thing, safe and sound.
Then I hear the birds chirping.
They fill the space of the garden—tiny chirps combining into one voice. The wind dies down as time stands still. It’s another temporary eternity. The blackberry patches glisten in the sunlight. The chirping continues.
Birds…chirping. When the birds chirp, everything will be okay. Everything will be okay. Even in Paige’s last moments, that brought us hope. Everything will be okay.

“Why will everything be okay?” I asked. “How does a bird’s sounds correlate with everything being okay?”
Paige put her hands on the tree bark—long, thin fingers I loved to lace in mine—and looked back at me. Sapphire orbs of perfection.
“Deron, what is this?”
“It’s a tree,” I said.
“And what is a tree made of? How is it connected to the blackberries, the grass, and yes, the birds?”
“They’re all…alive?”
“Yes!”
“So why will everything be okay? I was talking about birds, not trees.”
“You don’t need to talk about birds to prove it.”
“I’m confused. Even more than usual around you.”
“Deron, dear.” Paige walked towards me slowly. In the bright sunlight, her caramel hair looked ethereal. “Baby. Sweetie. Darling. They’re all alive. We’re all alive.”
“So, when the birds chirp, they’re alive, too?”
“Somebody’s catching on.” Paige smiled and our hands touched. Her energy, her light reaching forward and taking mine. “The chirping is a sign they’re alive. And birds have wings too, don’t they? As long as you’re alive, you can still fly.”
“But what if the bird’s wing is mortally injured? How then, can it fly?” I said.
“You’re certainly optimistic.”
“Well, you’re ludicrous.”
“See, this is why I like you. Capital L like you. You think my metaphors are crazy, but you think them through with me.”
“Okay, so what happens if the wings can’t function? What if the birds are so broken, so crushed, they can’t even think of flying anymore?”
“Deron.” She said the two syllables of my name slowly, her lips parting and closing as she enunciated. “You are only as broken as you think you are.”
I just stood there quiet, while Paige raised an eyebrow, as if saying, “you got it now?”
“Okay,” I said, even though I still didn’t get it. But I got her, and she would keep trying until I really got it.
“Everything will be okay,” finished Paige. And we smiled at each other for a long time. No kiss, no ‘I love you’, not any of that, because our gazes said it all. In that moment, we were alive. The sun beating on my back was alive. The air we breathed in was alive. And the birds were alive. Oh, they were so alive.

And that’s when my legs give out, and my knees hit the ground hard. I don’t even feel the physical pain. My vision blurs as the tears come. I feel my shoulders collapse as I put my face into my hands.
The birds are still chirping. But they’re alive. They’re okay. But all I see are Paige’s closed eyes; her head limp onto my chest. Her bloody face covered in tears. The sound of the engine as the car sped away into the night, the driver not even stopping to gasp at what he’d done. I’m no longer angry with him; I can only ponder the reasons. Was he drunk? Why hadn’t he stopped, and cried with me as Paige died? Why couldn’t he be broken with me? Was he even broken at her death?
Quiet sobs. I wish I could be buried next to her, to have moss and weeds grow on top of our bodies, as long as we were together again. The crash broke my left leg, which eventually healed after six months. It was never as broken as I thought it was. Warm sunlight penetrates the thin layer of my graduation gown.
“I’m sorry…” Another quiet sob. I pick at the cracks in the pavement. My cheeks have lines of tears running across them, and my nose has become runny. My breathing turns into gasps, and with every breath, I feel more like how I was on that street, cradling the dying figure of Paige. Couldn’t I have saved her? Couldn’t I have done anything? “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
I am the bird—I am the hypothetical bird whose wings are so shattered, so torn apart I can’t even think of flying again. I can only look up at the cloudless sky and wonder, wonder where she is now.
“Happy…happy graduation,” I say. I’m speaking to the birds perched on the tree branches. I hope Paige would say the same thing. She would wish me a good life. A good life without her.
The birds have stopped chirping. There is only silence interrupted by my crying. If the birds don’t chirp, and chirping is a sign they’re alive, are they alive when they don’t chirp? Or do you trust they’re out there somewhere, and that they’re still alive, and they’re still okay? And even if they’ve bit the dust, can you count on the fact they’ve once chirped, and they’ve chirped loud and proud?
I hear footsteps behind me. In the silence of the garden, every noise made is glaringly obvious. I turn around.
There’s a tall man with graying hair and thick spectacles that hide blue eyes. Despite his age catching up, he’s still ruggedly handsome. Beside him is a caramel-haired woman who has the soft gaze that made me feel welcomed whenever I was at their house. Like mine, both their eyes are haunted.
“Hey,” I say. I realize my tears are on full display. I wipe my face with one hand and stand up. “Mr. and Mrs. Summers.”
“Deron, your parents didn’t know where you went,” Mr. Summers says.
“They weren’t worried or anything,” says Mrs. Summers. “But we thought you might be at the garden. Paige…went here often.”
“Sorry.” I feel heaviness in the pit of my stomach. “I just needed to talk to her again. One last time.”
“The ceremony starts in five minutes,” says Mr. Summers. He’s direct, but his eyes are pained at the mentioning of Paige. I feel so selfish just focusing on my own feelings, without considering how badly they must have suffered too, at the passing away of their daughter. Have they moved on? How broken are they still?
“Okay.” I gingerly walk towards them, counting my steps and my breaths. “Sorry again.”
“Don’t worry about it, dear,” says Mrs. Summers. She puts her hand around my waist, steadying me.

As the three of us head out of the garden and towards the auditorium, I can hear it again. Just like that haunted night when the car hit Paige and me. Their voices, piercing through the sorrow and promising hope. The birds are chirping again. How can they chirp when loss is all around us? How can they possibly sing?

“How are you two doing?” I ask.

“We’re doing well,” says Mrs. Summers. “How are you, Deron?”

“I’m good.” Then suddenly, without thinking, I say, “Do you think about Paige often?”

“All the time,” says Mrs. Summers. “Though we’re learning to forgive.”

“Forgive the driver who hit her?” I ask. “Forgive me for being such an irresponsible boyfriend—kissing her on the open street?”

“No,” says Mr. Summers. They’ve heard my apologies a billion times. “Forgive ourselves.”

Forgive yourself. That’s it! Forgive myself for not being able to let go of what could be. Forgive myself for holding on too tightly when I should have let go. You are only as broken as you think you are.
The auditorium lights glare down upon the stage, basking us Class of 2016 in its bright glow. I adjust myself in my seat and look at the crowd—all faces who have either graduated themselves or will someday graduate. Some of these people knew Paige personally; others only saw her passing through the hallways.
I remember viewing her Facebook wall just days after the crash and seeing all the condolences. Some praised her efforts as Class President, while others wished her good luck ‘in the next life” and said she was so smart. Most said a beautiful girl full of potential like her shouldn’t go like this. They said all these things, but did they know her? Did I know her? Paige was such a metaphor unto herself that even she couldn’t begin to describe who she was.
“Deron,” says Ashley from next to me. “You all right?”
“I can’t seem to find Carson,” I say, looking at the rows ahead of me and behind. “Do you see him?”
“Deron.”
“Do you think he went to the bathroom?”
“Deron.”
“No, I’m not all right,” I say, gesturing to my eyes, still red from crying. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, that ‘dreams don’t plan for change.’ But…does life have to be so brutal in crushing dreams?”
“Deron.” Ashley puts her hand on mine, her eyes soft. “You think too much.”
“Paige did, too.”
Before Ashley can reply, our principal, Mr. Stevens, steps up to the stage.
“Good morning, Class of 2016!” He says, and us students erupt into cheers.
“And good morning parents and faculty of those graduating!” Mr. Stevens then gestures to us students.
“All you students have worked hard…most of the time,” he says.
“And you have all had fun…most of the time.”
“You have wondered if there is going to be a test tomorrow…most of the time.”
This gets a good laugh out of us students, and a few of the parents.
“I hope you have walked through these hallways and been thankful you have your friends, your teachers, and your parents to support you…even if you only do so sometimes.”
This goes on for a little while.
I remember sitting in this auditorium a year ago and hearing Mr. Stevens announce Paige’s death. I remember his head tilting downwards as if unable to meet the eyes of the audience. I remember it being so quiet you could hear the sounds of our quickening heartbeats, hear the cold sweat sliding down our brows.
Now, looking at the crowd of happy, smiling, and excited faces, I could not imagine anyone here once saw the loss of one of their students. Could they have moved on from Paige that quickly?
“Just a year ago, we suffered a tragic death in this community.” Mr. Steven’s words jar me out of my thoughts instantly. “Paige Summers. She was part of the graduating class this year, though she cannot be seated here with us.”
I stare wide-eyed at Mr. Stevens, feeling my stomach tie itself into knots.
“Before we move on, may we all have a minute of silence for Paige Summers, a forever treasured member of Cedar Wood High School.” Mr. Stevens lowers his microphone and bows his head. The rest of the room follows. I can hear the slow breathing of those around me. Compared to the announcement following Paige’s death, it doesn’t feel as if the very air was sucked out of the auditorium, but the atmosphere isn’t any less intense.
Slow, deep breaths, Deron.
Finally, Mr. Stevens raises his microphone and speaks again.
“My heart goes out to all those closest to Paige. It’s extraordinarily difficult to cope with the loss of a loved one. But just a week before the car accident that killed her, Paige came into my office. She wanted to talk about a speech she was going to give to the student body the following Friday.”
A speech? I lean forward in my chair. Paige never mentioned a speech to me.
“She was unfortunately unable to give this speech, but I have here a few lines from it. Paige told me the content was inspired by a conversation she had with a loved one.”
A loved one. This time, the room is dead silent. We’re about to hear her voice again. Her haunted voice.
“A bird is secure sitting on its branch. But when the strong winds come, and break the branch, the bird doesn’t worry. It doesn’t worry because it knows there are other branches it can rest on. And it can fly by itself.”
It’s like a punch to the gut. I remember Paige’s words: “The birds have wings, too, don’t they? As long as you’re alive, you can fly.”
Ashley and I exchange glances. “Did she tell you about that speech?” I ask.
“No,” says Ashley. “Did she tell you?”
“No,” I say. “But she did tell me about birds.”
“I am in no way devaluing the branch you once rested on,” Mr. Stevens continues. It occurs to me I am not listening to his words so much as Paige’s, whose words, even communicated through someone else, doesn’t lose its power. “That branch was precious to you, and you would not be the same without that branch to rest on.”
By now, I feel like crying again. Ashley senses it, and holds my hand.
“But remember the other branches—the other people you care about and who care about you. And you can fly—you can still dream, explore, and accomplish. You’ll be stronger once you realize you can survive on your own. You. Can. Fly.”
I’m hearing her voice again. Her melodious, glorious voice that sang like the birds, like her canary, Phil. Yes, I can. As long as I’m alive, I can fly. The words fuel me with a magnificent energy. It’s driving me on.
“You’re all so young, yet so wise. Try on your wings and tell me how it goes. You may think to yourself, ‘I’m so broken, so why should I try?’ Let me tell you, you are deserving of love. And you deserve to fly again.” I can imagine Paige standing up on the podium in Mr. Stevens’ place, speaking in front of the crowd as confidently as she did once. She seems to be speaking directly to me.
“I once told a boy I love, ‘you are only as broken as you think you are’. And I think we’re all shattered inside, but it’s the fact that we bother to love, we bother to care that makes us whole again.”
I really am crying now. I wipe my face and squeeze Ashley’s hand. She squeezes back.
“That is all of her speech,” says Mr. Stevens. His voice wavers on the words. “I will now call the graduates of 2016 up, one by one, in alphabetical order.”
This is it! I look to the crowd as the room bursts into thunderous applause. Not the monotone clapping I’ve grown accustomed to at school assemblies, but a real, passionate applause from the heart. A final ovation to Paige Summers.
I can feel her presence—it’s alive in all the people in this room. It’s there in her words Mr. Steven spoke. It’s in the beautiful day outside. It’s in the birds.
I hear Carson called, and a few names after, Ashley. I clap for them. I don’t know if I’m quite ready to fly yet, but they can be my branches until then. I can be their branch, too.
And finally, my name is called. Deron Harris.
The butterflies are exploding out of my stomach as I get up, smile at the students I walk past, and head towards Mr. Stevens. I don’t trip. Carson’s supporting me. He wants me to fly. Mr. Steven’s holding out a rolled-up bundle tied with a red ribbon—my high school diploma. I smile with him as people take our photo. He pats me on the back, as if reminding me if I needed support, he could be my branch as well.
I can spot my parents in the audience. They’re smiling—they’re happy for me. They really are. I can hear their chirps all the way from here.
I walk back to my seat. The rest of the graduates walk up. When the names get to “S,” where Paige is supposed to be called but isn’t, I don’t fight the memories. I let them course through my body, mix and eventually separate, because I am so much more than the memories of us.
“Now,” says Mr. Stevens. I can feel the tension and excitement building up in all us graduating. We have our hands on our caps.
“I proclaim the Class of 2016…GRADUATED!”
I toss my cap high into the air. As it blends with the other caps, I imagine them as birds. I imagine Paige’s face amongst them, sprouting wings and soaring high into the sky above. They flew pretty well.